Keenler Prompt - Deja Vu
by aussieokie
Summary: Written in response to an Anon Prompt from Episode 4x1 Isabella Stone: Extended scene where Liz is sitting in the back of the ambulance after jumping in the pool and Ressler checks on her (maybe with a reappearance from the blue blanket :-) ?)


_Just a short Keenler prompt, written in response to this Anon prompt on Tumblr: Extended scene where Liz is sitting in the back of the ambulance after jumping in the pool and Ressler checks on her (maybe with a reappearance from the blue blanket :-) ?)_

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Ressler hands off Isabella Stone's assistant to the waiting agent then strides straight to the ambulance. Unsure if Liz is there, he nods to Samar who is escorting Stone away, and continues toward the ambulance, its red lights flashing in the early evening sky.

As he approaches, he peers to his right and sees Liz sitting alone. There are no medics checking her, which is a good sign, he notes. And suddenly a feeling of Deja vu washes over him. The red and blue lights. The early evening and hustle and bustle of SWAT, FBI, law enforcement and arrests being made. An ambulance, front and center in his vision, but this time it's his partner sitting quietly in the back with a blanket around her shoulders. But he's not in Sitka. He's in D.C outside a very expensive mansion, owned by one man.

He walks to her, his mind still in Alaska, yet equally on her. Hair still wet she sits quietly, also taking in the scene. As he stands before her, blocking her view, her eyes slide up to his. A silent look is shared and for a moment, neither speaks. He could tell her that wasn't the smartest thing to do, diving fully clothed into a pool in winter. He could tell her that was quick thinking, diving fully clothed into a pool in winter. He could also tell her, or ask her, what the hell was she thinking, diving fully clothed into a pool in winter? But he doesn't. Because his brain is scrambled today. Not only with vague flashes of Sitka, but firmly planted in his home town, with his brother and mother. Nothing quite as articulate comes out when he opens his mouth.

"Hey," he says, shoving his hands in his coat pockets as he stands beside her.

"Hey, yourself," she replies, as her small smile crosses her lips, yet barely reaches her eyes.

"You're wet."

"I am," she agrees, the small smile widening as she shifts in her makeshift seat, pulling her blanket a little closer around her. "How's Dr. Sperry?"

"He's fine," he replies, glancing down the driveway in the direction that Sperry's ambulance had left. "Pretty shaken up though. They took him in just for observation."

She nods, follows his gaze down the driveway, before both return to each other. "How are you?" he asks.

"I'm wet," she smiles, repeating his observation, while playing with her limp hair that hangs in bedraggled strands around her face.

"But you're okay?" he asks again, glancing around at the ambulance she's sitting in and the medic a few feet away.

"Stop worrying, I'm fine," she grins.

Of course she is. He knows that, but still, seeing her in an ambulance has got his mind working in overdrive. Or perhaps his mind is just on hospitals and illnesses and surgeries today and he's putting more into it. And right on cue, his phone buzzes. Lifting it from his coat pocket he reads the text from his sister-in-law.

[He's still in the OR. No update from anyone. I'll let you know when we hear anything.]

He stares at the text, his mind no longer in Sitka, Alaska, but Detroit, Michigan. He should be there. [Thanks] is all he replies before he shoves his phone back in his pocket. Now is not the time or place.

"Everything okay?" Liz asks, and now he's back in D.C, in front of the ambulance.

"Yeah," he replies, mustering up a smile.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Just… stuff," he insists, turning as he hears Samar behind him. He would really like to talk to Liz, but not here. Not now. Now is about getting her taken care of. His own issues can wait.

Samar stands beside him. "Hey, I'm going to head back with the SWAT leader. We have Isabella Stone isolated in the armed transport and I'd like to ride shotgun."

He nods to her, "Don't let her out of your sight," he tells Samar, knowing full well she won't.

"I won't." She turns to Liz, "How are you?"

"She's wet," Ressler replies, and is rewarded by Liz's playful smile.

Samar nods, taking a quick glance at both of them, and if the scene also reminds her of a small town in Alaska, she keeps it to herself. "Gotta go. I'll get Stone back to the Post Office."

As she walks away, Ressler turns his attention back to Liz as she gives a quick shiver.

"You're also cold," he tells her, reaching out and feeling the blanket around her. It's wet around her shoulders and no longer doing her much good. Spying a couple of blankets inside the ambulance he steps into it to grab one of them. One blanket is grey; the other blue. And instinctively he takes the light blue one. Just like Sitka. And Kornish's cabin. And… yeah. It's blue.

And blanket in hand he turns, drops down beside her and reaches for the damp blanket around her. Taking it from her shoulders, he discards it and drops it to the metal floor behind him. And silently he unfolds the light blue blanket and wraps it around her. Her eyes meet his.

"Much better," she tells him pulling the soft blanket closer around her. "And it's blue," she smiles, chuckling for a moment as she nudges into him. Together they watch as the large armed vehicle pulls away from the scene, with their prisoner and Samar inside.

She turns to him. "Just like-"

"Sitka," he finishes. "Only without the drugs." And he doesn't know why he brought that part up. Perhaps because once again, his mind can't leave the thought of drugs and illness and hospitals today.

"Yes," she smiles, and pats his knee that is sitting close by hers. It's such a small gesture, but very personal between them. "You still doing okay with that, Ress?"

"Yes," he replies simply. Because he is doing okay with that. And she may or may not know it, but she's the reason he started with the NA meetings, something that became his lifeline those weeks she was on the run. A squeeze of her hand on his knee tells him she does know.

The medic approaches as they sit together. "I see you found a dry blanket. Good. How are you feeling?"

"I'm ready to get out of here," she replies.

"Yeah, you're free to go," he tells her and as she leans forward to stand, starting to remove the blanket, the medic tells her to keep it. "We got a million of 'em. You keep that and stay warm on your way home," he smiles.

As they rise together, Ressler's hand on her elbow steers her through the dwindling crowd of law enforcement. The big guns have left the scene with their prisoner, and only the mopping up crew remain.

"Home, or back to work?" he asks her leaning close to her as they make their way to the SUV.

The hesitation is very apparent to him. "Work. I can shower and change there."

She has a child and…him…waiting at home, yet would rather return to work. Just like himself, work defines them. It's who they are. It's where they feel most like 'them'. And for a moment, all thought of heart surgeries and hospitals and needing to be elsewhere fade while he takes care of her, and gets her to where she needs to be.


End file.
